


Grace

by Lindsey (Lipstick)



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Shinigami, Alternate Universe- Death Note, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-30
Updated: 2015-06-30
Packaged: 2018-04-07 00:57:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4243374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lipstick/pseuds/Lindsey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eren Yeager was simply next on her list. There was never any intention of it becoming personal.</p><p>(Please note that no former background on Death Note is needed to understand the storyline.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grace

**Author's Note:**

> This is a completely self-indulgent story I started writing when I was completely enamored with Death Note a few months ago. It is not imperative to have an understanding of Death Note to grasp what is happening in this fiction, as any Death Note references that are used are clearly explained.
> 
> I have taken minor liberties with some of the rules; however, I tried to keep the original Death Note elements as true to form as possible.

Mikasa supposes if she had a heart, she would feel its lively beating, hear the sound ring in her ears from nerves or anxiety, or perhaps a mixture of the two. Maybe the quickened beat would cause her to feel the blood rush through her veins, spark her with adrenaline; but she feels none of these things because she only has a figurative heart and it tends to be cruel and cynical. 

If she had a heart—a psychological heart, one that expressed emotions—she would feel bad about knowing that the next name on her list is the next person to die. His lifespan has many years left on it—or should, anyway, but she knows well that he will not live to his full potential. She can quite clearly see his lifespan with her eyes—the Shinigami eyes, special in that they allow a persons name to be seen as well as their remaining lifespan. She supposes, should she not kill him, that he would live to be somewhere into his eighties. But it is too late for him, because she has long since decided his manner of death, and it is not going to be changed after months of observation. 

It had only taken her a week into observing him to decide how he would pass and she’d written it without hesitation. Once a name and date of death have been written, it cannot be undone: it is a Shinigami law and Shinigami laws cannot be changed. 

He is going to die. It is an irrefutable fact that she can no longer change or avoid. She, too, would eventually die if she did not kill him and absorb his remaining lifespan. Shinigami absorb the remaining years of life from those they kill and as he is so young, she will acquire quite a good number to add to her own. She thinks he should consider himself lucky she has given him a few extra months to live, where most she watches only get a day or two, three if they’re lucky, from her learning about them until their death. 

Perhaps if she were a mortal with human emotions she would feel more remorse, have a conscience about ending the life of someone so young; alas, there is no guilt in her aged bones to speak of. Then again, she doesn’t have true human emotions to compare her own to. Humans tend to be used for amusement more than anything in the Shinigami realm, so it is quite possible, she acknowledges, that her perception of a particular emotion might not be interpreted the same on earth. 

She knows she feels satisfaction in writing down the names of her next unwilling victims. She would even go so far as to say she enjoys creating up deaths for them, that while she has been alive (perhaps _existing_ is a more accurate word) for longer than she can count, humans are always creating new homes, cars, architecture; therefore, there’s always new ways to devise their demise. She’s particularly fond of the gory deaths—jumping in front of trains or cars, for example, as no two people jump alike—because of all the reigning chaos that ensues in the moments after. The Shinigami world can be an endlessly dull place; the earth is a life-size playground for her and the multitudes of other Shinigami she frequently comes into contact with. 

In any case, it doesn’t really matter. Emotions are quite irrelevant to her job. 

But even so, despite her lack of understanding real human emotions, there is something about Eren Yeager she cannot shake, and it frustrates her that she cannot pinpoint what it is that prevents her from killing him as easily as the rest. His eyes are not the prettiest shade of green and his smile is not the most attractive; his physique is better than most, but his attitude is brash and he seems to overreact to situations she sees most other humans handle with ease. (Did he really need to get so upset over someone accidentally tearing his scarf?) Knowing all these things, she still cannot bring herself to end his life from a car, a train, a building—he’s far too fascinating for reasons she cannot comprehend. 

In the Shinigami world sits a large globe, perfectly round, perfectly proportioned. It is more than half her height and used often by the Shinigami in their realm. When she initially decides he is going to be the next name in her book—her book is her scythe, after all—she spends hours upon hours watching him through the globe. It zooms in on him and his surroundings, almost like magnifying glass, but if she were to touch it, her fingers would simply fall through to grasp at nothing. She watches him and his hours, sees his life decrease as time passes him by, unbeknownst to him. 

She smiles, albeit a little cruelly, when she watches one day as he trips on uneven sidewalk and scrapes his chin; she laughs with sardonic glee when a bald-headed friend named Connie playfully pushes him into a wall and his pinky snaps, his face reddening with pain and anger moments later. She’s entertained by the way he cannot please a girl in bed one night, a pretty, petite girl who looks oddly like a humanoid version of her; his face turns red that night, too, but for entirely different reasons. 

Perhaps she could not write his name down for an earlier death date because he is too fun to play with; she is a cat stalking a mouse before the big surprise, the big kill. Eren is playing a game with her that he did not ask to be a part of. 

The months on his life dwindle slowly, the remaining years that should be his soon to be hers. She watches as another Shinigami kills his parents in a double homicide that will not be solved and follows him as he takes solace in the arms of every man or woman he can find. There is almost pity in her eyes when she sees lips kiss his, aiming to please and pleasure, only for him to let out tears of anger and frustration that he cannot perform with his parents’ death still close to heart.

 _But yours is coming, too_ , she wants to tell him, to see what emotions might splay across his face. 

She reasons her interest in him is based on curiosity, for rarely does she take so much of an interest in the lives of those she is supposed to kill. (While she can—and often does—kill for her own entertainment, for a Shinigami cannot live without killing, she does not often invest so much effort in beforehand.) 

“Careful,” Annie, another Shinigami, says to her one morning, appearing at the globe beside her. Her eyes follow Mikasa’s gaze to the large, magnified circle showing Eren. He is at work, smiling widely as he rings up a customer’s purchases at a grocery store. “You know what happens when Shinigami fall in love with humans.” 

“We die, usually,” Mikasa answers, a small smile making it’s way to her features. She’s still watching Eren, though eventually she casts her eyes to the side to stare at Annie. “Please don’t assume I’m going to do anything stupid. He’s going to die. It’s already been written and decided.” 

They’ve seen it happen before, though rarely: it is not a violation of Shinigami law to fall in love, but that often means the Shinigami responsible for killing the particular human will not want to do so. It is in the refusing to kill an intended human, or knowingly extending their life in any way, that is against their laws: said Shinigami who saves a human will be reduced to a pile of dust, dead for all intended purposes, sentenced to a place that is neither heaven nor hell. 

Only once has Mikasa ever come across a pile of ash with a book resting placidly next to the pile; she’d left the book for another Shinigami to find and decide what to do with. She is amused by Eren and certainly likes him for all intensive purposes, but she will not sacrifice her own existence for his. 

But when Annie turns and gives her a small smile—a smile that says she does not believe Mikasa for an instant—Mikasa finds herself more annoyed with Annie than anything. “Don’t you have more parents to kill? What a shame it would be if you died from lack of extra lifespan,” Mikasa says, casting her eyes back to the globe. Eren is locking up the store for the night. 

“I look forward to his death,” is all Annie thinks to answer before she reaches out to touch Eren, as if to pluck him from his world and bring him to theirs. Her hand falls through the image, distorting his face for a moment. Her lips purse and she says nothing more before walking away. 

Mikasa stays for some time longer at the globe, watching until Eren falls asleep for the night.

\--- 

When Mikasa finally lands in the human world—her first visit in over two weeks—it’s sometime in the evening with the sun beginning to set. It is intentional of her to land near Eren, for she knows he can’t see her. A human can only see a Shinigami if they touch some or all of the book in which she writes down the names of those to die. She does not wish for Eren, or anyone really, to see her in this particular moment.

Eren is leaving work and she watches the young man say goodbye to his coworkers and some familiar, regular customers. He reaches into his pocket, meaning to pull out his cell phone but coming up with excess change that he places into the tip jar on the counter. As he’s leaving, she notices the way his lips move as he counts the tiles beneath his feet, a habit she’s sure he’s not aware he’s doing. 

She almost feels bad that this will be his last night doing any of these things. 

As Eren leaves, she follows him to a nearby bus stop, watching as his eyes scan the area, clearly attempting to locate someone. 

“Who are you looking for?” Mikasa finds herself asking, in spite of knowing he cannot hear her any more than he can see her. She reaches out to mock-tap his shoulder and, as expected, her hand easily slides through his body—but even she is caught off guard when Eren turns around, staring unknowingly straight into her eyes. 

If she had a heart, she supposes it would be beating loudly, that blood might be flushing her skin. If she had lungs, she surmises they would’ve inhaled sharply from surprise that this average human has clearly felt something, despite being unable to see her. She might’ve had weak knees for his green eyes or stuttered words of apology for the touch. But Mikasa is not human, and she does none of these things in her body that is not like a human’s, only similar in shape and size but inwardly backwards. 

Instead, she does not move, as though it will somehow make a difference, like he might see her if she does. She watches his eyes—so darkly curious—reach forward to where she is standing, watches his hand go through her breast, close to her heart. 

“That’s inappropriate,” she murmurs but does not move. His eyebrows furrow for a moment while his mouth is set into a soft ‘o,’ still attempting to figure out if he’d felt anything at all or if it was perhaps a strong breeze.

He does not get long to analyze, for a voice calls, “Eren!” loudly and with enthusiasm, breaking the spell she feels between them. 

With a small shake of his head and a whispered, “I’m going crazy,” Eren turns from her and instead locates the voice of the person who has called him. Mikasa turns, curious about the arrival of a new person, a new voice.

It startles her that this female is familiar and for a moment she cannot place it, until she understands that the petite female in front of her is the same slim, lithe woman Eren had (attempted) to copulate with before. She’s glad she’s invisible to the naked eye, for surely her smirk would be noticeable on her face. Instead, she watches him embrace the woman, whose name reads _Misao Amane_ above her head, in a tight hug. He kisses her cheek with fond affection. 

“Is tonight the night?” Misao teases, returning his kiss with a playful one of her own. 

“Maybe, maybe,” Eren murmurs, clearly embarrassed. He turns away from her as the bus pulls up, allowing her on first as they pay their fare. Mikasa is careful to follow, fighting the urge to reach out and touch another part of his body—skim his ribs, brush his thigh, tickle an elbow. She wants to know if he felt her or if it was coincidence, but still she is not ready to reveal herself. 

“So no?” Misao asks as they step onto the bus. She waits for Eren to pay and take a seat, leaning into his shoulder with catlike affection. Mikasa trails behind, fiddling with her book in hand, debating if she wants to add _Misao Amane – death by car accident_ into her book or not. 

Eren laces their fingers together and smiles. “I really need to rest tonight, maybe tomorrow?” 

“But there won’t be time tomorrow,” Mikasa says aloud, taking a seat across from the couple as the bus begins to move. The conversation that passes between the two until Eren gets off the bus near his house is mundane and trivial; she finds Misao to be exceedingly boring and briefly thinks that Eren should thank her for saving him from a life of mindless chatter. Eren kisses her cheek, her lips, and her forehead before saying his goodbyes; Mikasa has not realized that for every place he kissed on the girl, she had been mimicking the touch on herself. She feels more than ridiculous when she catches herself. 

She follows him off the bus, watches as he walks up the stairs to his apartment and opens the door. He immediately walks to the kitchen and glances at a clock in the corner: it is six o’clock in the evening.

“You’re going to die in six hours,” Mikasa says aloud. 

Eren takes out soda from the fridge and pops open the can. 

“I hope you really enjoy that last drink,” she adds, hopping onto his kitchen counter. She watches him open a microwave dinner and begin to heat it up. “But you might regret that as your last meal.” 

Eren watches as it heats up, waiting until the timer pings before taking it out and walking to the living room, where he sits down on the couch and turns on the television. She follows him there, too, sitting down next to him on the couch. Her book still in her hands, she considers letting him touch it, letting him see her: it will make no difference if he sees her or not before he dies, but a small part of her is not willing to let him know he’s going to expire very, very soon. 

Instead, she watches as Eren flips channels and eats his food, settling on cartoons for an hour before flipping around some more and ending on a comedy show. He uses his phone to send messages, even talks to Misao on the phone for a short conversation, and Mikasa can’t help but to get up and periodically check the time. It is eight o’clock when Eren dozes on the couch; ten o’clock when he wakes up and turns off the television to head to bed. 

He brushes his teeth, eyes closed from lethargy as he does, and washes his face. Mikasa cannot bring herself to avert her eyes when he’s changing, instead watches him slip off his jeans and pull off his shirt, walking around in black briefs before slipping on grey pajama pants. When he finally sleuths into bed it is a little past ten-thirty. 

These mundane activities that he will not repeat the next day interest her in a way that has previously not caught her attention in any other human. Like everything else about him, she cannot pinpoint why he entertains her so; his lazy gait to bed amuses her, the way he stumbles as he falls onto the mattress causes her lips to twitch upwards, and when he falls asleep, mouth open and drooling unattractively, she wants to straighten him up, let him die with dignity. 

He has taken for granted the ability to complete everyday tasks, always thinking there’s just another day around the corner. It is a fallacy most humans have, she’s discovered over the last few decades, always assuming there is more time to eat and talk and play, that there will always be another day to chatter to friends and family. She glances away from his sleeping form to look at the clock on top of his nightstand. 

“One hour and thirteen minutes left.” Mikasa does not expect an answer from him as he sleeps. She lets time pass slowly, flipping through old names in her book of people she cannot remember anything about. She finds his name, _Eren Yeager_ , beneath that of another individual named _Marco Bott_. Like all the others before him, she remembers little to nothing about him: he only stands out because he’s her last stolen lifespan and she had spent a few hours after his death ( _Marco Bott—death by cyanide, drinks it in soda with dinner on May 18th at four PM_ ) counting the freckles on his face and down his shoulders ( _two-hundred forty-three_ ). 

He had been handsome, from what few details she can recall, certainly in many ways more appealing than Eren. She sits down on the end of his bed, traces his sleeping form, startled but not surprised by the way he seems to again respond to her touch, stirring in sleep and rolling away from her to lay on his side. She withdraws her hand, murmuring, “How interesting you are, Eren,” before standing up and walking to his dresser. 

On top, she finds a photo of him as a younger child, flanked by two adults who she recognizes as younger versions of his parents, the very same ones killed by Annie only a few months prior. 

Thinking of Annie causes her lips to purse and her neck to turn upwards, staring at his ceiling, and she wonders if Annie is watching her now, waiting to see how Eren will die, if Mikasa will attempt sacrifice herself for him. She isn’t surprised that, when she turns around, the Shinigami she had been thinking of only moments before is hovering over Eren, her face so close to his that surely she can feel his breath against her.

Mikasa looks at the clock once more. It is twenty past eleven. 

“How’s he going to die?” Annie is curious as Mikasa suspected she would be. In the two weeks that she has not come to earth, she has done nothing but watch Eren’s daily activities; no doubt that she is finally in the mortal realm is an indication to Annie that something is about to change. 

Mikasa chooses not to answer, reaches a hand out to skim across Eren’s face; his nose twitches at the contact and once more she supposes if she had a normal body that correlated with her form her breath might’ve caught, might’ve been tempted to try taking a kiss before the inevitability of his death. 

“Did he just respond?” Annie asks, stepping alongside Mikasa to look down at Eren with more interest than Mikasa likes. 

“No.” It does not feel pertinent to tell Annie about the earlier incident at the bus. “Don’t you have a lifespan to take?” 

“Trying to get rid of me so soon?” 

Mikasa glances at Annie, annoyance etched on her face; these last moments with Eren are supposed to be hers and hers alone. She has been intentional in her planning, in ensuring Eren’s death privately. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Annie remarks. “I can go watch from the globe, anyway.” 

Mikasa shrugs her shoulders, because there’s little else she can say or do; Annie will watch the moment Mikasa had always intended to be solely hers, for her memory alone. 

“It’s eleven forty-five.” Annie’s voice asks the questions she has not verbally spoken: _What time is he going to die? How will he pass?_

“So it is,” are the last words Mikasa speaks to her before Annie takes her leave, departing as quietly as she’d entered. Mikasa sits next to Eren on his bed, watches the minutes tick down slowly until there is not more than three minutes till his death left. 

She opens her book and finds Eren’s hand, letting his fingers skim the inner pages. It is here she remains quiet, for now that he has touched her book, should his eyes open, he will see her. She lets another minute tick by. 

“Eren,” she says as the last two minutes tick down. “Wake up.” 

“Mmmm…” Eren’s voice is groggy, muffled, before he startles up at the realization there’s a new voice in what should be a silent room. His eyes find hers in the dark and he reaches over to the nightstand slowly, turning on the light. 

“Hello,” Mikasa says with an attitude far more jovial than is appropriate. 

“Who are you?” Eren withdraws into the far corner of his bed, sheets in hand as he stares at her. 

“My name is Mikasa,” she replies, staring into his eyes for a moment. She’s amused to find they’re a shade lighter than she’d previously thought. “I’ve been… watching you.”

Eren’s eyebrows narrow and he sits up a bit straighter. “Was it you who touched me earlier?” 

“So you did feel it.” She’s never come across a human who could feel her before. She’s almost regretting that Eren will die in another minute. “I wasn’t sure if you could or not.” 

“It hurt,” he admits hesitantly. “Felt like something sharp went through me.” 

“That’s interesting,” she says with sincerity. 

“Why are you here?” Eren finally asks, his eyes darting to the clock that now reads eleven fifty-nine. 

“You are going to die, Eren,” Mikasa says with honesty that she had not originally intended to offer him. “At midnight, in approximately forty-five seconds.” 

“How do you know?” Eren’s voice is dry, cracked—panicked. “I don’t want to, I’m not ready. How is that possible?”

“I am a Shinigami. It is my job. You were just next on my list.” _Nothing personal_. “It will be painless, I promise.” 

She can see his thoughts flashing, all the people he did not tell he loved and all the worldly things he will never get to experience. She does not let herself feel bad for depriving him of these things, because that is not her job to care about the feelings of the lives she takes. She gives him a few seconds alone in silence. 

“How am I going to die?” Twenty-five seconds left. 

“Peacefully,” she says, intentionally vague. She does not want him to panic even more, though supposes it’s inevitable; she has never exposed herself to any of her other mortals, not in her decades of being alive, but does not tell this to Eren. It wouldn’t matter or change the facts. 

“But why me?” Ten seconds. 

“You were just the first person I saw,” she admits, watches as the seconds of his life end; his eyes widen for only a second before he lies down on his bed, slowly and with a surprising amount of grace that he was not blessed with in life, head against the pillow as he closes his eyes to drift into an eternal slumber.

“Didn’t I promise you it would be peaceful?” she says, reaching to touch his face one last time, to memorize the curve of his ear, the peaceful way death has claimed him. As she turns to leave, feeling surprisingly weighed down with emotions she is unaccustomed to, she finds she is already forgetting the color of his eyes that she had only seen minutes earlier; he, too, will eventually fall into the abyss of names and souls she will not remember. 

_Eren Yeager—dies in sleep on June 29th, at twelve o’clock, midnight._

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you didn't think he was gonna live, oops. Her personality was based, very loosely, off of Ryuk's. 
> 
> Now I can go back to finishing... everything else.


End file.
